


Dream On

by Nisaki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 21:18:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15737517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/pseuds/Nisaki
Summary: ‘’You’re beautiful.’’ The green eyed man whispers, voice whiskey smooth and honey sweet. Sam’s cheeks heat up. This man has been a recurrent dream of Sam’s, always standing far off, smiling at Sam but never walking towards him. It’s the first time Sam’s gathered enough courage to actually talk to him, and this is the first thing the man said. Like he knew Sam for all of their lives, expects Sam to know how beautiful this stranger finds him. Sam’s heart thuds.





	Dream On

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last year for 12 days of wincestmas and never posted it.

‘’You’re beautiful.’’ The green eyed man whispers, voice whiskey smooth and honey sweet. Sam’s cheeks heat up. This man has been a recurrent dream of Sam’s, always standing far off, smiling at Sam but never walking towards him. It’s the first time Sam’s gathered enough courage to actually talk to him, and this is the first thing the man said. Like he knew Sam for all of their lives, expects Sam to know how beautiful this stranger finds him. Sam’s heart thuds.   
  


_ It started a month ago, Sam didn’t particularly do something different that day. He dragged himself to bed, shoulders hung down and feet barely lifting from the floor. Yawning, he threw himself on the mattress and fell asleep.  _

_ He knew he was dreaming, even then, but it was vivid. He could feel the slightly humid air on his skin, taste the orange blossoms’ smell on his tongue. He inhaled deep and took in his surrounding. _

_ Green grass as far as the the eye could see, blooming orange trees scattered around. Leaves lush and alive, white little flowers covering most of the branches, petals falling with the breeze. Sam’s nose filled with the enchanting fragrance with every breath. The sun was hanging in the sky, beams warm on his face, the breeze gentle and cool, ruffling his hair. Definitely a spring day, Sam thought. _

_ The man was standing there, close enough for Sam to make out his features but too far to speak to. Hands in his pockets, feet set apart and shoulders squared. Like a soldier that couldn’t let go of his battle stance. He was looking in Sam’s direction, Sam should be scared, but he wasn’t. He felt calm, almost serene. It was a dream, nothing could harm him here. _

_ He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, allowing the sun to bathe his face, feeling his hair sliding down his neck, tickling. When he opened his eyes, it was early morning, and he was in his bed, a sinking feeling in his chest, like he’d wasted a chance. _

_ The feeling stayed with him all day, and at night he dreamt about the same scene, the man was there, looking at him.     _

 

Tongue stuck to the back of his mouth, Sam doesn’t answer. He’s awestruck by the vibrant green in the man’s eyes, the constellations of freckles that soften the otherwise ragged, too handsome appearance of the man. 

‘’I..emm..’’ He stammers pitifully, heat rushing into his face. He’s utterly mortified, wants to hide his face with his hands. He ducks his head instead, hoping that his hair is enough to cover his blush. 

Gentle fingers curl under his chin, feather like touch on his cheek, moving his head upward so he can fall into forest green again. The man gives him a soft smile, Sam’s blood sings, heart playing the drums, he trembles. Their lips meet. 

A whimper makes its way out of his throat, his knees weakening. The man keeps him up with a strong arm wrapping around his waist, pulling him flush against his chest. He doesn't remember a kiss this incapacitating, sinfully delicious and sweet at once. He clings to the man’s shoulder blades, his fingers fisting in the cloth. 

‘’Dean,’’ The man breathes between their lips, ‘’My name is Dean. Please don’t forget me when you wake up.'’

Sam opens his eyes, gazes at the too close features of Dean, he’s entranced, under a sugary spell he hopes never breaks. He nods his head, moves his lips to reply with his own name, but Dean starts to disappear. Panic rises in Sam’s chest, he tightens his hold on Dean only to find nothing but air in his arms. 

He wakes up with an aching heart and wet lashes. 

Sam obsesses about it for the whole day, can’t concentrate on his classes. The lectures go by and his friends call to him but Sam is in a trance, barely getting out grunts and one word answers. His muscles are weak, the longing, to that kiss, to the warmth of Dean’s arms, in his bones. 

Sam doesn’t sleep that night or the night after. 

Desperation mounts when in the third night he dreams of nothing but orange trees. Dean is not there. 

The night after that, the trees has no flowers on them, leaves dirtied and less alive. Almost weak. The place is the same but it doesn’t smell of sweet fragrance, the air is colder and the wind is cutting. Clouds cover the sky. Dean is not there. 

It grows into a sickness, the frantic need to see Dean. Sam is restless, wants nothing but to slumber, leave the word and go back to his dreams, search for Dean. The thought of running around screaming for Dean fills his head when he’s awake, but in sleep he can’t remember moving. 

Sam skips class, spends the day in library looking for a way to remember something during a dream. Dean’s words haunt him, echoing off of every surface, edging him on. It’s stupid and irrational, but down in his soul, he knows something is wrong. Maybe Dean is in trouble, he has to find him. He starts crying after six hours of frustrating, fruitless research. Like a child throwing a tantrum, hiccuping and mumbling  _ no no no _ under his breath. The librarian asks him to leave.

_ ‘’Please don’t forget me when you wake up’’  _

He runs home, races down the street like he’s running out of time. His appartement is a complete mess, and he doesn’t pay it mind. The land of waking has no appeal to him anymore, and all he wants is to go back and find Dean.

Dean’s always wearing the same clothes in the dream, black from head to toe like he’s mourning. Sam wears white, like a bride. White shirt and white jeans, no matter what’s on him when he sleeps. But he carries his scars and wounds, once he scraped his knee and when he dreamt, the shallow ache was there on his skin.

He makes his way to the bathroom, locks eyes with his reflection. He might be going crazy, he most likely is, but something strong is building up in him, his soul is hurting and his heart is bleeding and everything is so wrong. Bleak; incomplete.

The sting of the razor burns up, but it feels like relief, like a solution. He cuts up the words, carve them into his skin, his resolve edging him to continue, ‘till he spells the words on his forearm.

FIND DEAN.

He drops the razor into the sink and yanks the bathroom closet open, everything falling down as he searches for the first aid kit, he swallows the sleeping pills dry. Not enough to kill him, he doesn’t want to die, but enough so he won’t wake up soon.

Lids dropping, Sam doesn’t fight it, lets the darkness embrace him.

The orange trees are completely dead, their trunks and branches charcoal, the ground is black like a fire has eaten up everything. He chokes on the smell of smoke, coughs into his forearm. He hisses, eyes widening when cherry blood seeps through his clothes.

He sprints.

‘’Dean! Dean!’’ There are ravens shouting, omnios and depressing. Sam’s legs’ muscles are going to fall off, he’s bathing in his sweat, lungs burning up, throat scratched raw.

‘’Dean!’’

A rush of wind passes, everything around him changes. Dean is dying on the asphalt, wound bleeding. Sam falls into his knees, pulling Dean into his arms, cradling him against his chest.

‘’Sammy,’’ Dean’s voice is strong despite the heaviness of his body, Sam’s tears stream down. He looks around, seeking help, or something, anything he could use to save Dean. They’re in a dark street, and it’s so cold he’s afraid Dean will freeze before he bleeds out. A black car is ten feet away from them.

‘’Dean, give me the keys.’’ His voice is horse, he’s not breathing right. But he knows the car is Dean’s.

‘’Please wake up, Sammy.’’ Dean’s eyes are pleading, but Sam can’t wake up now. If he did, he’d go back to reality, and he has to stay here. He has to.

‘’I can’t! I need to stay with you, I have to help you.’’ Sam reasons with him, hands petting down his pockets, searching for the keys. Dean lifts his hands up, cups Sam’s face and pulls him close, their noses lining up.

‘’I can’t live without you, Sam. Please don’t die.’’ Dean’s tears are falling down, his lips are wet as he kisses Sam, pets his hair. ‘’Please don’t leave me, Sammy, please.’’

‘’I’m not. Dean, I’m not leaving,’’ Why is Dean saying this? Dean is the one who’s dying.

A pain flares up in Sam’s abdomen, and he winces curling up into Dean further. Something wet seeps through his clothes, sticky and warm. Sam looks down in horror, a pool of blood is forming under him, he’s bleeding. He’s falling, he’s been shot.

Dean is running towards him, calling out his name, Sam doesn’t hit the ground, he falls into Dean.

‘’Don’t leave me, Sammy. Don’t go where I can’t follow.’’

_ Sam. Sam, Sammy! _

Sam’s head pounds, ears hurting. An obnoxious, monotonous beeping sound forces him to open his eyes. Dim light and blank walls greets him, sterile sent invades his nostrils. He moans in discomfort, everything in him hurts.

Dean.

He shoots up and grunts as his body throbs, he tries to place his hand on his head but it’s trapped under something.

Dean is asleep on his folded arms, Sam’s hand is clutched between them. He frowns as he register that he’s in a hospital, is he still dreaming?

Memories of their last hunt slams into him, being shot by a confused guy, Dean rushing him to the hospital. Bleeding on the passenger seat, Dean’s desperate begging filling the car.

_ ‘’Please don’t die.’’ _

Sam blinks, stares at his left forearm, smooth skin and an IV line. A bony wrist like he hasn’t eaten in months. How long was he here?

‘’Dean?’’ He nudges Dean’s shoulder, Dean jolts up.

‘’Sam!’’ Sam is crushed into a frantic, warm embrace. Dean’s babbling his thankfulness into Sam’s hair, arms like steel around his shoulders and waist. It hurts like hell, but Sam would rather die than ask Dean to move, he won’t lose this for anything, aching muscles be damned.

He loops his arms around Dean’s shoulders, clinging to his shirt.

‘’What happened?’’ His voice is scratchy, throat feels like its been cut up, or strangled.

‘’You’ve been shot, we’ve been here for two months.’’ Dean croaks ‘’Your vitals were stable, you could breathe on your own without intubation, but you wouldn’t wake up.’’ He can hear the tears in Dean’s voice, and he tries to hold him closer.

‘’I’m okay now,’’

‘’I tried a spell, Bobby said,’’ He swallows ‘’That I can’t choose what to say or show you, but it can help guide you back, and you’re here.’’  Dean draws him impossibly closer, like he’s trying to get Sam inside, imprison him behind his ribcage and protect him with his own flesh and bones.

Dean had saved him yet again, and Sam’s eyes tear up at the memory of his anxious search for Dean, he didn’t even know who Dean was. But the need to find him won out and got him here.

‘’I love you, Dean.’’ He breathes. Dean doesn’t answer, just gentles the hug, hand moving up and down Sam’s spine.

Sam smiles, he’s tired but he doesn’t want to go to sleep. The man of his dreams is real after all, and slumbler has nothing on this.   

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me how you feel about this <3


End file.
